


You Begin to Make it Better

by phoebesmum



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, Sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-17
Updated: 2009-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 05:17:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/phoebesmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan is sick; Casey knows how to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Begin to Make it Better

**Author's Note:**

> Written May 2005. It's another drabble that got away, possibly influenced by the fact that many, many people on my FL were poorly at the time. Poorly, and with no Casey McCall to bring them soup. I call that a damned shame.

There are many ways in which Dan is not what Dana, with some venom, calls a Typical Man. He cares about the way he looks; he likes to shop. The movies he watches don't necessarily have to be about sports, or involve explosions. He's thoughtful, he's considerate, he's a good listener. Really, in some respects he's practically a woman. Casey tells him so on a regular basis.

But today - today, Dan is conforming to the masculine stereotype. Possibly because he simply hasn't the strength to rebel against it.

"I'm _fine_!" he insists, sitting hunched over his desk, coughing until he's purple in the face. He's been repeating this, and variations on the theme, for the past two hours. Ever since he got into the office, in fact.

Casey nods gravely. "Yup. You've certainly convinced _me_."

"Really!"

"You're the picture of health, Danny. That's what I'm saying."

Given a slight head cold, or a papercut, or a stubbed toe, Dan will - not whine; he'll grit his teeth and bear it in heroic silence, and yet, somehow, everyone will be aware of his anguish and appreciate his suffering. On the other hand, he once cracked his ankle in a game of touch football, and no-one knew anything about it until the next day, when he couldn't put his foot to the floor and Natalie had to drive him to the hospital.

Today he's showing all the symptoms of the flu, and is doing his utmost to deny it.

"I can do the show," he says, and actually manages to fake a couple of lines of typing before he shoves back his chair, exhausted, and lets his head flop down to rest on his arms.

"You'll look good on camera," Casey agrees. Especially Dan's eyes, which are barely visible, his eyelids are so red and swollen. And the small breakout of acne on his forehead: that's attractive, too. "If it were Christmas, you could double for Rudolph."

Dan tries to laugh, but it breaks up into another coughing fit. Casey sighs. "Danny. Go _home_."

"My script's not written," Dan protests, and pushes himself back up to make another lame pretence at typing. Only for a moment. He flinches away from the screen, and lays his head down again.

"I'll write the damned script!" Casey says, too loudly, and Dan winces. "Danny. You've made your point, and we're all impressed. You're a real trouper. Now, are you going to go home, or am I going to have to get Natalie to - "

"If I'm not on the show, my mom will worry," Dan mumbles, hurried and low, muffled into his folded arms.

Dan puts a lot of time and effort into not worrying his mother. It doesn't make much difference. In all the time he's known her, Casey thinks he's never seen Hannah Rydell smile. He understands the reasons why. He only wishes that Dan didn't blame himself for it. That's all.

"Then call her," Casey says patiently. "Tell her it's nothing, just a cold."

Dan's trying to sit up straight, clutching at the edge of the desk for support. "She gets scared when we're sick."

That's understandable, Casey thinks. Death had hit the Rydells so suddenly, so unexpectedly, so hard, that now they see it round every corner. "I know," he says, and his voice is quiet. He's a father himself.

"I don't want her to know I'm sick," Dan mutters.

Casey sees his opening and takes it. "So, you at least admit you're sick now?"

Dan lets his head drop into his hands, rubs tiredly between his eyes. "You're too clever for me in my weakened state."

Casey smirks. "I'm too clever for you pretty much all of the time, Dan." It's a measure of how bad Dan really feels that he lets that pass without comment. "Now, for the last time. Go home. Go to bed. Get some sleep. I'll come on by after the show and bring you chicken soup."

"I hate chicken soup," Dan grumbles. "My grandmother used to make it. It had feet in it."

"Feet?" Casey asks, dubiously. He wonders whether Dan's hallucinating.

"Chickens' feet."

"Oh." That's a relief. "Well, this'll be Campbell's, there won't be any feet. I guarantee it." He makes a note to check anyway.

Dan's managed to stand, and is trailing shakily over to the coatstand to get his jacket. He wraps it over his shoulders, as though buttoning it up's too much of an effort. "Don't come over, Casey."

Casey crosses the room to him, pulls off the jacket, slides Dan's arms into first one sleeve and then the other, then fastens it. He remembers doing this for Charlie, back when Charlie was tiny, and a fond smile curves his mouth. He stands back. "I'm coming over."

Dan shakes his head, then puts his hand to his forehead, dizzy. Casey takes his arm again and starts walking him out. "I don't want you to get sick too."

Casey grins; not unkindly. "Isn't it a little late to be thinking about that?"

"… I guess …" Dan says, vaguely.

"Besides, I won't get sick. I promise." Easy to say, maybe, but his chances are good. He can't remember his last day's illness. If, that is, you don't include the hangovers.

"If you get sick," Dan murmurs (and his eyes are drifting shut; he's half-asleep on his feet, and Casey has to steer him carefully through the bullpen), "Dana's gonna kill us. Me first, then you."

"She won't kill us." Casey presses the button for the elevator, and guides them both into it as it arrives.

"She might," Dan insists, and slumps back against the wall. The car's empty; Casey decides it's worth a risk, and slides his arm around his partner.

"I'll take my chances," he tells Dan, and he tightens his hold, and brushes a quick kiss across Dan's cheek.

Dan smiles.

***


End file.
